


If Wishes Were Horses

by moonstone1520



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Molly, F/M, Fluff and Angst, New Year's Eve, Post-Reichenbach, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Holmes Has a Heart, Wishes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-05-10 20:38:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5600029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonstone1520/pseuds/moonstone1520
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly Hooper had a yearly tradition for New Year’s Eve: at fifteen minutes to midnight, she would leave the morgue and climb the stairs to Bart’s rooftop and gaze at the sky. And once she heard Big Ben boom out the midnight hour, and the crowds gathering in London cheer, she would look to the sky, lit with colorful fireworks, and make a wish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When You Wish Upon a Star

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place the New Year's after The Fall.

**_If wishes were horses,_ _beggars would ride;_**

**_if turnips were watches, I would wear one by my side._ **

**_~English Proverb_ **

***

Molly Hooper had a yearly tradition for New Year’s Eve: she always requested the third shift for that evening. Why not? She had no interest in going out on the town with Meena—she disliked crowds—nor with watching the countdown on the telly alone in her apartment with Toby—somehow that seemed lonelier than working. So, every year since she began at Bart’s, she would put in to work New Year’s Eve. It was typically slow and it gave her time to catch up on paperwork. And every year, at fifteen minutes to midnight, she would leave the morgue and climb the stairs to Bart’s rooftop and gaze at the sky. And once she heard Big Ben boom out the midnight hour, and the crowds gathering in London cheer, she would look to the sky, lit with colorful fireworks, and make a wish.

She never made wishes for herself; that wasn’t her way. Instead, she made wishes for her friends, her colleagues, her family. She wished for health, for wealth, for professional advancement, for healing, for wisdom, for love. She made her wishes and sent them up to the starry sky, trusting the stars to keep her wishes and nurture them for her. She made numerous wishes for numerous people every year.

This particular year, however, her wishes were for four specific people.

She tried to ignore the weight in her chest as she stepped onto the roof and disregarded the chills that ran up her spine when she passed the faded bloodstain on the ground. She pretended her heart didn’t leap into her throat when she approached the edge of the rooftop. She clutched her flimsy lab coat closer to her body and thought on what she wished for.

She wished healing for John. She knew the man was devastated still after the events back in May—he still hadn’t entirely picked up the pieces. She knew he had only gone back to Baker Street once or twice, and then not since August. Molly talked to John but rarely, and his voice was still pained when she last spoke to him. He still sounded _broken_. Molly looked to the sky and wished fervently for John’s shattered heart to mend.

She thought of Lestrade during her vigil. The Detective Inspector had faced a tribunal when the stories of Sherlock’s involvement in a multitude of his cases came to light. He got away light—restricted to desk duty indefinitely—but it was still a blow to his pride and reputation. His marriage was in tatters—again—and he fell off the smoking wagon due to the stress of it all. For him, Molly wished strength and laughter. Greg was always someone she could count on for a crass joke or two, but the jokes stopped shortly after Sherlock’s fall. She rarely saw him smile anymore, and it saddened her that the man who used to be so vibrant and full of life had become a defeated man.

Molly wished vitality for Mrs. Hudson. The older woman, like John and Lestrade, no longer laughed or smiled. She somehow looked older in the months since Sherlock’s demise. She also hadn’t the heart to go up to the empty flat—“I don’t know what needs doing,” she’d mentioned to Molly over a cup of tea. The mischievous light had gone out of her eyes and Molly wished for it to return.

Though it hurt to even think of what he could be doing, or where he could be, Molly wished most ardently for Sherlock’s safety. She looked to the sky and imagined that she was seeing the same stars he was, that he was swiftly and systematically dismantling Moriarty’s network and that he would soon come home to London to his friends, to his life. She closed her eyes and reflected on the moment she replayed so often in her head:

_“What do you need?”_

_“You.”_

She sent her wishes out to the universe, and exhaled heavily, feeling as though a small weight had been lifted. Molly didn’t know how else to help except to send this karma out in the hopes it would come back to her friends tenfold. She successfully ignored the guilt that was her constant companion; keeping Sherlock’s secret was something she did willingly and without question, but it crushed her being a constant witness to the despair of her friends.

Molly blinked down at London and smiled at the cheery attitude of the city. She glanced up at the night sky and witnessed a shooting star pass over through the smoke of the fireworks.

And on this shooting star, in the darkest corner of her heart, the one she refused to acknowledge, Molly wished he would come home to her.


	2. Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again, she had wishes for specific people. But another year had passed, and the wishes had drastically changed in nature. For all three of her friends: John, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson, she wished for immeasurable happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place the New Year's right before Sherlock returns.

**_He who cannot do what he wishes, must needs do as he can. ~Latin Proverb_ **

Molly Hooper made it up to the rooftop just seconds before midnight. She delayed her ritual for a moment and simply listened to the cheering of London mingle with Big Ben’s hourly announcement. She crossed her arms and braced herself against the chilly wind, her lab coat flapping behind her. The fireworks glinted off the ring on her left hand and she stared at it with a small smile on her face _(but a storm in her eyes)_ before she began to collect her thoughts.

Again, she had wishes for specific people. But another year had passed, and the wishes had drastically changed in nature. For all three of her friends: John, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson, she wished for immeasurable happiness.

John had slowly began to heal and had some of the old laughter return to his eyes, though Molly suspected his new lady friend had a bit to do with that. She knew he still had his moments of grief over the dead detective—ever the observer, Molly saw him look sad when he thought no one was looking _(she ignored a similar thought about a very different man)_. Those moments however, had become fewer and father between as the year had pressed on and as he and Mary had become closer. If she wasn’t mistaken, Molly thought she might see wedding bells soon for John and Miss Mary. The thought pulled a grin onto her face, even as her fingers twisted her own ring around.

Lestrade was finally back on active duty, but his reputation was still tarnished within the higher ups of the police force, even as there were whispers floating around of Sherlock’s innocence. His pride was healing still over the public beating it took last year, and Molly knew it would be a while before he felt secure enough in his position again. His divorce was quietly finalized last month and while Molly knew he felt relief that a long and tumultuous chapter of his life was over, he was a man with a lot of love to give and no one to give it to any more. The crass jokes made a slow but steady reappearance over the course of the year and, like John, the laughter in his eyes had also returned. Molly knew Lestrade was a good man and so she wished happiness his way and a shot at the kind of love she knew he sorely deserved.

Mrs. Hudson she hadn’t visited as often as she should have of late, and Molly allowed herself to feel the shame and guilt she knew she should. So she sent a wish of happiness out for Mrs. Hudson, but only because Molly honestly hadn’t much of an idea how the older woman was fairing. Between the papers she spent a majority of time researching and writing for various medical journals, and her very recent engagement to Tom, Molly hadn’t gotten over to 221B as often as she would have liked this year. The fact that her heart clenched and her vision blurred with tears every time she step foot onto that section of Baker Street was irrelevant _(or so she told herself)_.

She saved the person she held dearest for last, as she always did. Molly had no idea where he was or what he was doing, but Mycroft at least gave her the courtesy of subtly informing her that Sherlock was still alive. He would blind copy her in innocuous emails to other government officials regarding specific countries. It took her a bit, but Molly eventually figured out that was his way of telling her what country Sherlock was in at that point. How timely the information was, she had no idea, but she understood the emails were a small thank you for her part in the masquerade.

As always, she wished for his safety and that he would come back safe and sound to his life and his friends.

As always, she ignored the niggling part of her heart that would also whisper, _Come back to me too._

Molly turned her eyes up to the sky. The fireworks were still exploding, but the clouds hid the stars. Perhaps London would finally get some snow this year. _It’s certainly cold enough_ , Molly thought, wrapping her coat closer to her body.

”Is it cold where you are, Sherlock Holmes?” she whispered. Molly closed her eyes, forcing back the tears that threatened to come, and sent her wishes out to the clouds.

She didn’t return to the morgue right away. She remained standing on the roof, looking out over her beloved London until long after the fireworks and the cheering had ceased.

She was still on the roof when the snow began to fall.


	3. Wish I May, Wish I Might, Have the Wish I Wish Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She considered scrapping the ritual altogether this year. She ignored the clock that pressed ever closer to the hour. She pretended not to hear the distant chiming of Big Ben. And she shut herself in her office when she heard the emergency medics down the hall pop a bottle of champagne and toast to the New Year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place the New Year's after Sherlock's return, between Magnussen's shooting and Sherlock's exile. There might also be a reference to TAB if you squint. 
> 
> I have't decided if I'm going to continue with this series after this chapter, so do let me know if you think I should!

**_I wish I knew the good of wishing. ~Henry S. Leigh_ **

She considered scrapping the ritual altogether this year. She ignored the clock that pressed ever closer to the hour. She pretended not to hear the distant chiming of Big Ben. And she shut herself in her office when she heard the emergency medics down the hall pop a bottle of champagne and toast to the New Year. At two in the morning though, Molly thought better of it, emerged from her office into the darkened morgue, and trudged up the stairs to the roof.

The rain had finally let up, so she put her umbrella into the door frame to prop it open. She approached the edge of the roof and reveled in how silent the city was becoming. Oh, there were a few crackers going off here and there, but for the most part, the city was slowly drifting off. The smoke from the fireworks had finally cleared, though the clouds weren’t likely to leave anytime soon.

Molly sighed and thought back over the events of the past year.

What a bollocksed up year it’s been.

Sherlock had finally returned. He came to see her at Bart’s after a particularly harrowing shift. She had just finished a long day of autopsies and all she wanted was to go home, have a glass of wine and some takeaway and cuddle on the couch with Tom.

Her plan went up in flames the second she met his eyes in the mirror.

***

She could tell he was uncomfortable and nervous when she stepped into his flat. For some reason, Sherlock was always an open book to her—especially the last few years. Then again, she was a little uncomfortable and nervous, too. She could feel it in the air—their relationship had shifted somehow in the two years he’d been gone and neither one really knew how to fix it. Molly attested it to his growing a bit more of a heart since he’d been gone—he certainly was much kinder to her during their day of solving crimes. When he proposed fish and chips afterwards however, her heart clenched.

And again when he told her she counted, that she mattered the most.

And when he bent down and bestowed a rare kiss on Molly’s cheek, in her heart of hearts she knew that, once again, she was lost to him—even if she refused to admit to herself that her heart had, and always would, belong to Sherlock Holmes.

She watched him walk away from her.

Molly remembered her fiancé and didn’t go after him.

***

She had drank too much after the ceremony, had been overly affectionate with her fiancé at the reception, to the point he was giving her odd looks and asking if she was okay; Molly had never been one for PDA. Her nerves for Sherlock’s speech overwhelmed her and she drank to calm herself, to push down her feelings for the detective, to keep them hidden so no one else could see.

She couldn’t keep her eyes off him during the first dance. He was enchanting when the played the violin, and Molly realized with a start that it was the first time she’d ever seen him play. She watched him search out someone, anyone at the reception. She watched his expression falter, his eyes grow sad. She watched him discreetly slip out the side entrance. She watched him walk away again.

Again, she didn’t go after him.

***

Tom ended their engagement shortly after the wedding. He may not have been the smartest man in the world, but he could clearly see that Molly was no longer his, and probably had never been from the start. He kissed her cheek when he left her flat, her ring in his pocket, his hollow wishes for her happiness ringing in her ears.

***

Slapping him had never felt so good.

So she did it again.

And once more for good measure.

She demanded an apology through the red that blinded her vision. She felt her heart harden a little when he snarked back at her, referencing her broken engagement and using the excuse that his drug usage was “for a case.”

But Molly knew better. The blown pupils, the stubble, the dirty clothes, the unwashed hair, the weight loss since the wedding. She knew John wouldn’t notice, small as it was, but Molly did. His using wasn’t a one-time thing. If she’d learned anything from Sherlock Holmes over the years, it’s how to observe what others don’t see.

He’d been using for weeks, possibly longer.

She kept her distance from him after he was shot, and her anger only grew when she learned how long it had taken to wean him off the narcotics.

Her heart hardened further when she received the phone call from Lestrade that morning, detailing John and Sherlock’s little adventure to Appledore.

Indeed, it’s certainly been a bollocksed up year for everyone in her little circle.

She was still angry. Too angry to make any genuine wishes for anyone.

Except…

Molly Hooper emerged onto the roof of Bart’s and made her yearly wish for the New Year.

But for the first time, she made it for herself.

She closed her eyes and calmed her mind. She could hear the clock striking three. She sent her wish to the clouds, and felt the weight of the past year lift a bit off her shoulders. She clutched her coat against her body and braced herself against the windy onslaught as she turned to go back inside. She didn’t notice the familiar figure in the shadows watching her leave, nor did she realize he had heard the wish she made or how fervently she made it. He let her go, just as she had let him go countless times before.

“I wish for my heart back, Sherlock Holmes.”


	4. I Wish Nothing But the Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock hears Molly's wish.

_**If there’s a single lesson that life teaches us, it’s that wishing doesn’t make it so. ~Lev Grossman, The Magicians** _

 ***

The door to the roof slid closed with a _snick_. Silence reigned on the rooftop--even the late night revelers had retired to their beds, the sounds of crackers exploding and bottles shattering having long since faded.

The hiss of a lighter and the flare of a flame interrupted the quiet. He lit the cigarette he'd been craving since he came up here--a craving that had been curiously extinguished the moment Molly's words reached his ears. Her now long ago exit and the emergence out of his reverie brought it back in full force and he inhaled with great satisfaction, relishing the smoke filling his lungs.

Sherlock retraced Molly's footsteps and approached the edge of the roof, forcing down the memories of the last time he stood at the edge of Bart's. He knew Molly had feelings for him; he wasn't completely daft to human emotion, despite what the people around him believed. No, he buried his emotions because he felt them too strongly.

He felt for _Molly_ too strongly.

And it only took a gunshot to the chest to make him realize it: that he, Sherlock Holmes, _cared_ for Molly Hooper.

However, with his recent revelation regarding his feelings for Molly, also came the revelation of his shoddy treatment of her over the years. He'd asked so much of her and given so little in return.

It seemed too late now to make... whatever he felt for her known now. Not after the wish she made on this very roof.

He exhaled and stubbed out the cigarette as the first rays of light began to appear on the horizon. He closed his eyes and breathed in the London air. He'd come up here tonight to keep watch over his beloved city, to take her in one more night before he left.

Mycroft informed him that evening what his punishment was to be. He was to fly out the day after next to partake in the mission Mycroft had previously advised that he refuse.

“It’s the only way, Sherlock,” he had sighed over the phone. “You won’t survive in prison.”

“I also won’t survive running about Eastern Europe, or do you not recall the reason you asked me to refuse the mission in the first place?” he snarled back. Mycroft was silent for so long on the other end, Sherlock half thought he had hung up. Then:

“I don’t have a choice, Sherlock. You killed a man, in cold blood, in front of government forces—”

“And I’d do it again in a second, Mycroft.”

Mycroft exhaled heavily on the other end. “Are you ever going to tell me why?”

Sherlock paused. “It’s not my story to tell.”

“And that, dear brother,” Mycroft murmured shakily, “is why we avoid falling victim to _sentiment_.”

Sherlock ran a hand through his curls to rid himself of the memory. He squared his shoulders and pulled out the small piece of paper he carried in his coat pocket. He ran his fingers over the words he’d written not hours before, ignoring the way his heart clenched as he thought about Molly’s words. Steeling his resolve, he tore the paper into tiny pieces and threw them into the wind—a ritual he watched his mother perform many times throughout his youth when she wanted something especially badly. She, like the rest of the Holmes men, wasn’t a believer in God, but she did believe in some sort of power larger than herself. She’d throw the pieces into the wind and hope that someone somewhere would hear her request.

Sherlock had nothing left to lose.

He watched the pieces flutter away in the early morning wind and repeated his wish to himself under his breath.

“I wish for your happiness, Molly. Really and truly.”

He glanced at his watch and turned back to the rooftop bay. Mycroft had allowed him to leave Baker Street for this one errand—he needed to be back before he became more of a fugitive than he already was. As he pulled the door open, his other wish for Molly Hooper—the one he absolutely refused to vocalize, even refused to acknowledge—dashed through his brain.

_Please don't forget me._


	5. Wishes Do Come True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know you trust me with your life, Molly Hooper.” He looked away from her, embarrassed and nervous. Molly started when she felt his hand creep into hers and hold on for dear life. “But would you ever be able to trust me with your heart?”

**_Sometimes things become possible if we want them bad enough. ~ T.S. Eliot_ **

Molly inhaled the crisp London air and smiled to herself. She was on the roof earlier than usual this year. So, it would seem, was a certain consulting detective. She closed the door behind her and allowed her smile to widen when he turned towards her, acknowledging her presence. He stubbed out the cigarette he was smoking and replaced his hands in his pockets, his back straightening as he gazed at the few stars that deigned to make an appearance. She pulled her coat closer to her body and approached him, sidling up next to him and watching London.

They stood in silence for a long time, watching the building euphoria of the city and taking in the atmosphere. Sherlock shifted next to her.

“Got let off babysitting duty, then?” she asked cheerfully.

He rolled his eyes in response. “I blackmailed Mycroft into staying with Ella for a few hours while I came here. Of course John and Mary would choose tonight to go out.”

Molly giggled. “And what did you hold over him this time?”

“I simply threatened to inform our parents that he was _dying_ to take them to a matinee of _Kinky Boots_ and then to a wine tasting afterwards. When that didn’t work, I also added in that I might send John and Mary over to “have a word” with him regarding my deployment last year to Eastern Europe. He caved when I added that caveat.”

“John and Mary still don’t know?”

Sherlock tilted his head in thought. “Mary might. Nothing gets by that woman, it seems, though I’m not entirely confident of her knowledge of the situation. But, by unspoken agreement, we’ve all agreed to keep John in the dark for the time being. No reason to divulge the real reason I was going overseas.”

“But you told me.”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Molly asked, turning so she faced him, her eyes questioning. Sherlock continued looking straight ahead, over London.

“I thought you should know.”

“Why, Sherlock?” Molly repeated, her tone becoming sharper than she intended. She watched the wheels turn in his head as he contemplated whether or not to tell her. “And don’t lie to me. Not about this.”

He stood still for a long time. Molly had just about given up on an answer when he spoke. “Because, you matter. More than anyone. Because I’ve fallen victim to sentiment with regards to you, and I felt it only fair that you know the sort of man that I am, that I’ve become. The events of last year have changed me, Molly, and I don’t take for granted that you have stayed on my side through… everything,” he finished lamely.

Molly stared at him, confused. “You know I’ll always stand by you, Sherlock. You know I trust you with my life and I trust your reasons for your actions.”

He turned to face her, his eyes seeking out hers. “I know you trust me with your life, Molly Hooper.” He looked away from her, embarrassed and nervous. Molly started when she felt his hand creep into hers and hold on for dear life. “But would you ever be able to trust me with your heart?”

Molly’s heart began pounding. “Would you promise not to break it?” she asked before she could stop herself.

He shook his head. “You know I could never promise that. I’m sure I’ll break it over and over, always without trying and almost always without knowing.”

“Where is this coming from, Sherlock?” she asked, afraid to hope for what she thought he was asking.

Still avoiding her gaze, he replied, “The debacle with Magnussen, my near exile, the elimination of Moran at the very near cost of your life… it has helped me put into stark perspective the role you have always played in mine.” He met her eyes. “You’re always there. In my head, in the morgue… and, more recently, in my heart.”

He turned his head to meet her eyes. He stepped closer to her, his gaze never wavering from hers. “When Moran nearly killed you, I was forced to imagine my life without you in it. It was one thing being away from England for two years. It was quite another imagining your body on your own examining table, your coffin lowering to the ground.”

He reached up and wiped away a tear that she hadn’t even realized had fallen. “Frankly, Molly, I never want to go through that again, either real or imaginary. The very scenario I had always privately feared most was coming true before my eyes and it forced me to confront some… feelings… I wasn’t completely aware I harbored.”

“Sherlock,” she whispered, leaning into his caress, her eyes closing against the tears.

“I know last year you wished for your heart back, but, if you would let me, I would like to be allowed to keep it in my possession for a bit longer.”

Her eyes shot open. “You heard that?”

He smirked. “I was hiding from my brother. It was the least obvious choice for a temporary respite from his overprotectiveness. I knew he wouldn’t think to look here. It was purely by accident that I witnessed—and heard—your ritual.”

Molly gaped at him. “You… you want to keep my heart?”

Sherlock sobered. “If you would let me, yes.”

The corners of Molly’s lips twitched. “It’s battered and bruised.”

Sherlock’s arm crept around her waist. “It’s also beautiful, like its owner.”

Molly smiled and squeezed his hand. “Then I wish you would keep my heart, Sherlock Holmes.”

The last thing Molly heard before Sherlock’s lips descended on hers was the clanging of Big Ben and the crowds of London cheering as the New Year began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking by my little story! All of your comments and kudos make me so very happy and appreciated. I hope the ending is everything you wanted! <3


End file.
